| |
| THERE was music on the midnight, | |
| From a royal fane it rolled; | |
| And a mighty bell, each pause between, | |
| Sternly and slowly tolled. | |
| Strange was their mingling in the sky, | 5 |
| It hushed the listener’s breath; | |
| For the music spoke of triumph high, | |
| The lonely bell,—of death! | |
| |
| There was hurrying through the midnight | |
| A sound of many feet; | 10 |
| But they fell with a muffled fearfulness | |
| Along the shadowy street: | |
| And softer, fainter grew their tread, | |
| As it neared the minster gate, | |
| Whence a broad and solemn light was shed | 15 |
| From a scene of royal state. | |
| |
| Full glowed the strong red radiance | |
| In the centre of the nave, | |
| Where the folds of a purple canopy | |
| Swept down in many a wave, | 20 |
| Loading the marble pavement old | |
| With a weight of gorgeous gloom; | |
| For something lay midst their fretted gold, | |
| Like a shadow of the tomb. | |
| |
| And within that rich pavilion, | 25 |
| High on a glittering throne, | |
| A woman’s form sat silently, | |
| Midst the glare of light alone. | |
| Her jewelled robes fell strangely still,— | |
| The drapery on her breast | 30 |
| Seemed with no pulse beneath to thrill, | |
| So stone-like was its rest! | |
| |
| But a peal of lordly music | |
| Shook e’en the dust below, | |
| When the burning gold of the diadem | 35 |
| Was set on her pallid brow! | |
| Then died away that haughty sound; | |
| And from the encircling band | |
| Stepped prince and chief, midst the hush profound, | |
| With homage to her hand. | 40 |
| |
| Why passed a faint, cold shuddering | |
| Over each martial frame, | |
| As one by one, to touch that hand, | |
| Noble and leader came? | |
| Was not the settled aspect fair? | 45 |
| Did not a queenly grace, | |
| Under the parted ebon hair, | |
| Sit on the pale still face? | |
| |
| Death! Death! canst thou be lovely | |
| Unto the eye of life? | 50 |
| Is not each pulse of the quick high breast | |
| With thy cold mien at strife? | |
| —It was a strange and fearful sight, | |
| The crown upon that head, | |
| The glorious robes, and the blaze of light, | 55 |
| All gathered round the dead! | |
| |
| And beside her stood in silence | |
| One with a brow as pale, | |
| And white lips rigidly compressed, | |
| Lest the strong heart should fail: | 60 |
| King Pedro, with a jealous eye, | |
| Watching the homage done | |
| By the land’s flower and chivalry | |
| To her, his martyred one. | |
| |
| But on the face he looked not | 65 |
| Which once his star had been; | |
| To every form his glance was turned | |
| Save of the breathless queen: | |
| Though something, won from the grave’s embrace, | |
| Of her beauty still was there, | 70 |
| Its hues were all of that shadowy place, | |
| It was not for him to bear. | |
| |
| Alas! the crown, the sceptre, | |
| The treasures of the earth, | |
| And the priceless love that poured those gifts, | 75 |
| Alike of wasted worth! | |
| The rites are closed,—bear back the dead | |
| Unto the chamber deep! | |
| Lay down again the royal head, | |
| Dust with the dust to sleep! | 80 |
| |
| There is music on the midnight,— | |
| A requiem sad and slow, | |
| As the mourners through the sounding aisle | |
| In dark procession go; | |
| And the ring of state, and the starry crown, | 85 |
| And all the rich array, | |
| Are borne to the house of silence down, | |
| With her, that queen of clay! | |
| |
| And tearlessly and firmly | |
| King Pedro led the train; | 90 |
| But his face was wrapped in his folding robe | |
| When they lowered the dust again. | |
| ’T is hushed at last the tomb above,— | |
| Hymns die, and steps depart: | |
| Who called thee strong as Death, O Love? | 95 |
| Mightier thou wast and art. | |
| |
